


Undone

by parisian_girl



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, MFMM Smutuary, Phryne's left something important behind, Reunion Sex, here be smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-25 03:41:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17717369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parisian_girl/pseuds/parisian_girl
Summary: Jack finally catches up with Phryne in England, but Phryne has forgotten something rather important....AKA The Perils (And Delights) Of An Unplanned Reunion.Part of MFMM Smutuary Challenge.





	Undone

**Author's Note:**

> Smutuary!!!! *flails*. Allison_Wonderland came up with this brilliant idea - and there's still prompts available for the taking :). 
> 
> This originally started life as a 500-word chapter in 31 Days (Chapter 25, same title). Since I couldn't fit the smut into 500 words, you've got it here instead! I was assured that was fine...;). The Smutuary prompt was "stroke". 
> 
> Thanks to toriegirl for the beta read :).

“You did what?”

His voice was a murmur into her ear as she lay beneath him, his lips teasing her skin and his fingers roaming, taking their fill wherever they could. There wasn’t much to stop them. Clothes had been dispensed with. He could feel her breath coming raggedly against him as her hands did their own exploration; time had collapsed into a sensual, beautiful jumble of lips and flesh and kisses and moans. This, with Phryne, was an end in itself. He never wanted it to stop, but she had spoken, her voice a cracked whisper, and he hadn’t quite caught what she said.

“I…we need to stop, Jack.”

He did, immediately, his hands stilling and his brow furrowing as he pushed himself up slightly to look down at her.

“Is everything alright?” Possibilities flooded his mind, all of them unwelcome. Perhaps he had misread things after all. Perhaps she had changed her mind. Perhaps… “Phryne?” She looked as if she was about to cry.

“I left it in London!”

Her voice came out as a raspy wail, and he blinked. “Left what in London?”

“My…uh…”

Oh. 

“Your… _device?”_

She nodded miserably, her fingers trailing from his back. “I only just thought of it, I wasn’t thinking straight before, and… _fuck!” S_ he glared up at him, her face a mixture of frustration and annoyance and raw need, and she shifted her hips a little, still longing for his touch. “I didn’t exactly plan this.”

None of it, Jack thought, had been planned.

He hadn’t planned to follow her at all, not until her Aunt Prudence had arrived one morning at the police station brandishing a one-way ticket on the next steamer leaving Melbourne for Southampton. It was all paid for, his leave sorted. All his ready excuses - the ones that were fit for public consumption, at least - were now null and void. When he had asked why, Prudence Stanley had simply looked at him as if he was an imbecile, and he had enquired no further. Instead he had started to pack, and to make arrangements. He had started to allow himself to remember the night they had shared - their only night, the night before she had left - in all its beautiful, sensual detail. He had thought that Phryne would be enjoying herself, blazing her way across the globe and delighting in London company that he couldn’t possibly hope to emulate. He had still believed that her words at the airfield had been tossed in the heat of the moment, bathed in the glow of what they had done just a few hours earlier.But he had started to allow himself the possibility that maybe, just maybe, she would be pleased to see him anyway.After all, Prudence Stanley, hardened old battle axe of Melbourne society, knew and loved her niece like a daughter. If she hadn’t thought Phryne wanted him with her, he wouldn’t have had that ticket in his hand. 

He hadn’t planned on turning up on her London doorstep, only to be told by the sympathetic butler ( _“Cunningham, sir, at your service”)_ that Phryne had disappeared off down to Devon for the week, borrowing a car and depositing her parents in the safe hands of relatives in Chichester along the way. It had thrown him. He hadn’t known what to do for the best, until Cunningham had subtly dropped it into the conversation like sugar into his tea. _“There are trains to Exeter, sir, that leave from Paddington each day. 10am, I believe. It’s a beautiful part of the country”,_ and of course he had gone. He had come this far, he had reasoned, why not a little further? He had never seen much of England, just the grey smog of a London recovering from war all those years ago. He had always thought there had to be more to it. If nothing else he could do a little sightseeing. But in the cab, rolling along the country lanes from the station, he had felt his nerves start to jangle, insistently and painfully; a reminder that he was a long way from home with a vulnerable heart. All his doubts had crashed back into his mind with the full force of the steam train he had just left, and he had thought about asking the driver to take him somewhere else. 

Then he had seen her.

She had heard the cab, the crunch of tyres on gravel announcing a visitor that she hadn’t been expecting, and had come out to see who it was. Behind her, he could see lights. Lots of them. Conversation drifted out of the open door, and he could hear music. Laughter. He had cursed himself for not having checked first - he could have taken a room in a hotel somewhere, and telephoned ahead. He could at least have waited to arrive at a more reasonable hour, when she might not have other guests. But all of that came too late. She was there, and he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t.

He hadn’t even planned what to say. The only words that came out were stiff, upright apologies; he had been furious with himself for turning up unannounced when she was quite obviously… _entertaining._ Her dress had said it all. Silky and black, adorned with a simple embroidery pattern of sequins that sparkled so fervently in the dark that he thought they had to be real diamonds. The shock on her face at the sight of him had been evident, shock that had initially prevented her from speaking. But when he had apologised for the fourth time, when he had said he would leave her to it and perhaps they could meet in the coming days to “ _catch up on news”,_ she had grabbed him unceremoniously and kissed him until he had no stumbling protests left. Only an inkling that perhaps, after all, she might be pleased to see him.

She had introduced him to the small, but raucous, group in the parlour before getting them out as quickly as was reasonably possible (he had noted, with some relief, that there hadn’t seemed to be a ‘date’, as such), and then she had kissed him again. She had left no room for his doubt, no room for more apologies or suggestions of waiting. A trail of clothes had been left up the stairs; he had imagined following it back down in the morning but had not felt embarrassed by it. She had kissed that from him too. All he had been left with was her. Pure raw need, and desire, and his body remembering and wanting more.

No. None of it had been thought through, not even this. He had dreamed, fantasised, but he hadn’t dared to expect and he definitely hadn’t planned. Neither had she, when she hadn’t even known he was coming. Even so…and he was wondering how to put it delicately…

“You never leave that behind.”

She raised her eyebrows, but managed to huff out a laugh. “Just in case? I haven’t done that for a long time, Jack. Even before…well.” Her gaze softened, and suddenly she looked vulnerable. Naked in a way that she hadn’t before. “They weren’t you, so I wasn’t interested.”

Her admission startled him. Shocked him. He gazed down at her, this beautiful woman, and he felt his world crack wide open.

She had only wanted him. 

“Do you want to stop?” His voice was husky, and she shook her head vehemently. 

“No. But…”

“Then don’t worry about it, love.” He kissed her, long and deep, running one hand slowly up the inside of her thigh. His heart felt like it was melting into her; he knew he would give her everything. “There are other ways.”

 

****

 

Of course she couldn’t have known. She couldn’t have planned for it. He had sent no word, not even a short telegram to say he was taking her at her word and coming after her. She had dreamed about it, night after night. She had fantasised about it. She had meant it, even though she had never thought that he would actually do it, and she had relived their one night together time after time, her body longing and aching for a touch that was no longer there. She had planned, instead, for a reunion in Melbourne. She had thought of every last detail for _that_.

But this was not Melbourne, and she was left frustrated, furious with herself, and cursing the device that sat innocently in the drawer of her bedside table back in London. What she had told him was true. She hadn’t used it in quite some time. Even so…

_‘There are other ways.”_

She broke away from his kiss, her face the picture of consternation.

“But, Jack…”

“Like this.” His finger slipped inside her again, deeper than his earlier teases, and she groaned involuntarily, a soft sound but an animal one. Her face started to relax, and she saw his eyes darken.

He was hard. She could feel him, pressing against her leg through the smooth cotton of the sheet that separated them, and she wanted that sheet gone. Her fingers scrabbled at it, impatient now. If nothing else she wanted to see him, but he didn’t reply. Instead, he slowly dragged his finger out of her, helped her to push the sheet away, and moved her legs further apart.

“ _Fuck,_ Jack.”

The hand that had been inside her was now slowly stroking his own length, coating it with her arousal, and she moaned at the sight. She reached out to touch him. She wanted to feel him - dear God, the man was just so beautiful - but he intercepted her hand, his mouth curving and his grip gentle as he placed it back behind her on the pillow. 

“Later.”

She understood. He wanted this for her, and he wanted to last. But the throbbing between her legs was becoming painful, harder with each pulse and each stroke of his cock, and her moan became a whimper. She needed him. Now.

“Jack…”

He swapped hands on his cock, continuing to tease himself while he sank two fingers deep inside her, and she cried out. Her hips bucked against him; she couldn’t help it. Withdrawing completely, he waited for her to settle before doing it again. And again. Each time, a jolt of pleasure so acute it felt like pain shot through her, and she writhed against the pillow. She wanted more. She wanted to close her eyes and surrender herself completely to it, but she wanted to watch. Her eyes were greedy for all of it; his hand on himself, his hand on her. She had never known anything like this.

The loss of his fingers as he withdrew one last time was excruciating. She could feel how wet she was. She could see it as those same fingers stroked along his cock, leaving glistening trails in their wake, soothing the swollen head and making him hiss with pleasure as he felt her heat on him. Her mouth watered. She longed to touch him, with her hands and with her mouth, and she could tell he was enjoying teasing her. But he was too careful with her, even after so much time apart, and too sensitive to her pleasure to do it for long. When he re-entered her, harder this time, it was with a slow, sensual purpose that sent a wave of heat flooding over her whole body.

“Now give me your hand.”

He had let go of his cock to reach for her, and she obeyed without thinking. She was beyond reasoning or questioning, and when she felt her index finger being pressed gently onto her throbbing, aching clit, she almost fell apart. His other hand was still inside her, his fingers circling gently with perfect pressure; he mirrored it on her clit, guiding her in pleasuring herself with him. It was so intimate. She saw it in his eyes, all dark heat and love.

“God, Jack.”

It was a ragged whisper, and she saw the corners of his mouth curve a little. He didn’t speak. But when he was sure that she wasn’t going to bring her hand away, that she wasn’t going to deny herself this, he lifted his hand from hers and brought it back to himself.

She wanted her fingers to keep making those slow, teasing circles. She wanted to keep it going as long as she could, because this was primal and it was beautiful and it felt so goddamn _good_ , but she couldn’t. She was too close. Her hips began rocking, the same rhythm as her fingers, swift and frantic as his fingers drove deeper inside her; her desperation became his as his hand worked his cock, harder and harder in time with his thrusts. Watching him was like a drug. She could see him throbbing, see the head of his cock glistening and see the grip of his hand; she could feel herself, so hot and wet and close to the edge. But it was his groan that shattered her, wrenched from him by a sharp twist of his wrist, and she came with a harsh cry, finally closing her eyes. She let it overtake her completely, her hips rising off the bed and her whole body shuddering, and his fingers inside her slipped as she throbbed against him. Dimly, she was aware of him joining her, surrendering himself and spilling onto her with a gutteral shout, and then there was nothing but her breath. His arms, and a warmth and tenderness she had never known before. It was a while before either of them could speak.

“Jack?” She pressed herself against him, and his indistinct reply rumbled against the top of her head. She knew she couldn’t find the words for how badly she had missed him, how much she had wanted him, and so she settled for kissing him instead. She wanted him again already, her hands beginning to wander with some ideas of their own. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I am too.”

She could feel him responding to her, and she smiled. Perhaps it wasn’t such a bad thing after all. A little imagination, it seemed, went a long way, and there would be time in London, and Melbourne, and everywhere in between for other things.

 

 


End file.
